


kiss with a fist

by NourthernDownpour



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Some Descriptions of Violence, blood mention, still relatively mild and nothing beyond the scope of what mass effect shows in game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-06-07 13:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6806281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NourthernDownpour/pseuds/NourthernDownpour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of snippets about Shepard and Garrus and their competitive nature + inability to share emotions with each other like normal people. Set between ME1 and ME3, but may not always be ordered sequentially.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i spilled your blood upon the floor

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter set after everyone has been recruited for ME1

Okay, so... so _technically_ they weren't supposed to be drinking. _Technically_ , they wouldn't be on shore leave for another five hours, when the Normandy docked at the Citadel. _Technically_ , she was supposed to be awake, and in her full capacity to command her crew. _Technically._

But, then again, Wrex had also _technically_ challenged her with the claim that he could drink more than her, and she couldn't let that fly.

“Give it up, Shepard,” he chuckled, watching from across the table. “You're just as likely to poison yourself as win.”

“I don't know, she's done considerably well so far,” Garrus noted from the next seat over. “Of course, not as well as me.”

A hand smashed against the table, its owner hiccupping with the motion. “Turian liquor is like piss, you can't possi-- possibly think you're holding your own.”

“We compared the percentages, Tali, it's all drink for drink,” he retorted, shrugging as he leaned back into the chair. “Don't blame me if you can't keep up.”

She smiled gently at the half of her assembled squad before her. There was a warmth amongst them, and not just from the alcohol. She was glad that she had simply sat down and relaxed with them. Caught up on what they were thinking, of her and the crew and the mission at hand. They needed times like these, to cut loose and have fun and think of her as more than just a mouth that gave orders. And if their fun just so happened to leave them slurring their words just a little bit too much, oh well.

“You done, Shepard? Haven't touched your drink. I always knew you humans were soft, but I didn't think they let pillows command warships,” Wrex jibed, spurring her on even further.

“You wish, krogan. I could drink for _days_.”

To punctuate her point, she lifted her glass of whiskey and drained it, fighting the urge to cough as it burned through her throat. She would definitely need to stock up once they docked, but for now she was content to drain the bottle.

“You are soft though, all you humans. Too squishy, especially in the middle. Even your muscles are squishy,” Garrus pointed out, literally, as he reached over and poked at one of her arms. “No wonder you need huge sets of armor.”

“Really? You're going to tell me that when you're still wearing your armor? While drinking? I'd bet half my credits that you probably wear it to bed. That feel comfortable, Vakarian?”

Tali poured her another shot as Garrus leaned forward, settling his elbows on the table as he sized her up. Or, tried to, more specifically. He looked more like he was trying to read a sign far off in the distance, instead of look at a face that was a few feet in front of him.

“At least when I take mine off, I don't lose all my strength,” he said, his face plates shifting and his mandibles twitching as if he had said something particularly cutting.

Had she not been drunk, she might have laughed until her stomach hurt to watch the display before her. But as it was, the alcohol swam through her head, and relaxed her tongue.

“You saying I'm weak, turian?” She tried to subtly puff her chest out, make herself bigger than she was, but judging by the way that Wrex and Tali both dissolved into fits of giggles, she figured she just looked dumb.

But Garrus didn't move at all. He kept her stare, now sharp enough to pass for vaguely intimidating. She wondered if all turians looked so much like a hawk on their prey when they stared people down. She wondered if her insides were supposed to feel all wobbly after a heavy gaze.

She shook her head a little, trying to push the thought and feeling away.

“I'm saying that if you punched a turian, _human_ , that the only thing you'd hurt are your cushiony little fingers.”

And, well.

He wasn't _wrong_ , in the end.

But the punch that she had landed across his nose had certainly broken something, judging purely by the crunching noise that cracked through the room. Garrus cursed and spluttered as blue droplets fell from his face.

She clutched at her fist, holding in her own red blood that welled from her newly split knuckles, but she smiled all the same. Grinned, even, as Wrex fell off his chair laughing and Tali teetered off to get Chakwas up to help them, cursing all the way.

“Shit, Shepard,” Garrus said, his voice coming out more thickly than usual. “A little warning might have been nice.”

“A little warning would have given you time to duck.”

“Turians don't duck.”

She furrowed her brows, confused by his statement and made to ask why the hell not just as Chakwas emerged from the crew's quarters and pinned her with a glare so mean that it froze her in place.

“Commander Shepard, I expected better from you,” she started, voice high and sharp, a stark contrast to the way she looked in her crumpled, standard-issue Alliance pajamas and mussed up hair. “Truly, the last thing I expect--”

She stopped abruptly, lurching forward with almost enough speed to send her tumbling. From the floor came a groan, and a few curses her translator couldn't pick up. Wrex.

“Are you all drunk?” Chakwas asked, though she assumed the doctor was being rhetorical, judging by how flustered she was getting. “Like children sneaking alcohol from their parents' cupboards, I swear on my mother's grave. There is a time and a place for this type of behavior, but the middle of the night and aboard an Alliance vessel while you're still on duty is not it.”

“Sorry, Doctor,” she mumbled.

“Where did Tali go?” Garrus wondered, likely trying to cut the tension between the women.

“To bed, where you should be, Mr. Vakarian.”

“Doctor, there are other ways to get me in bed with you,” he grinned, and then winced.

Chakwas turned her glare on Garrus as she tried her best to stifle a laugh. “He's not serious, he thinks humans are _too soft_.”

“Oh, my-- Is that how this started? A cross-species cockfight?”

“What's a cockfight?” Garrus asked, voice laced with honest curiosity.

“Heh heh, I'll show you a cockfight,” came Wrex's voice, floating up from the floor.

For a short while, all Chakwas could do was pinch the bridge of her nose and close her eyes. She and Garrus glanced at each other, made eye contact long enough for her to grin at him, and for him to shake his head in exasperated humor at her.

“Right, I'm going back to sleep. I'm going to pretend I didn't see any of this, so I won't have to report it to your higher ups, Shepard. You can seek treatment at the Citadel when we arrive.”

“And how should I explain that my on-board physician refused to treat me and my crew?”

Chakwas stared at her, a challenging eyebrow high on her face. “You can very well find a way to cover your own ass, Commander. That is your responsibility.”

With that, the woman turned on her heel and left, walking briskly back to her quarters and leaving them to their injuries.

She glanced back at Garrus again, and watched as he gingerly touched the broken areas of his face. “That hurt much?”

“No, Shepard,” he drawled, rolling his eyes. “It feels invigorating, actually. Nothing quite like a broken nose to get you going.”

“Well, at least you can't call us soft anymore,” she said, shrugging. The alcohol had masked the pain in her knuckles, but that was ebbing away, and she knew she'd be aching in a few minutes.

“Like hell I can't. You actually proved my point. You couldn't hit me without hurting yourself.”

“No, you said the only thing I'd hurt was my hand. Your nose begs to differ. Unless you'd like to try again?”

He barked out a laugh, and shook his head. “I'm good, Shepard. What's that human expression? No need to kill a horse twice?”

“No need to beat a dead horse,” she corrected, laughing herself. “We good, Garrus?”

He sighed, and nodded. “We're good.”


	2. so we remain the same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief chapter, spans ME1 and ME2

They had finished emptying out a base of mercenaries, a small group consisting of her, Garrus, and Liara. It had been easy work; get in, finish them off, retrieve their stolen goods, get out. Nothing more than routine, really.

“My kill count was higher than yours.”

She turned to glare at Garrus as he straightened up, a few heat sinks in his grip. “Bullshit. You're wrong, Vakarian.”

He tapped his visor and grinned. “The stats don't lie, Shepard. I can show you if you like. Or give you lessons on how to actually aim your gun, seeing as your Alliance seemed to have skip that part.

She narrowed her eyes. “How many did I lose by?”

The turian smirked and turned away, moving to gather more of the unused ammo. “One. You were actually pretty close.”

She had her pistol out in a second, and fired a round at his legs before she could think twice. Satisfaction rewarded her as she watched his shields crackle, and heard the bullet clink against his armor. Wasn't a kill, but wasn't a bad shot, either.

“I'd call that even, then.”

 

* * *

 

She climbed the stairs, Miranda at her back and Jacob ready to guard her flank. They entered the main room, checking for signs of hostiles. She turned then, to the figure in blue and black armor, a figure, a sniper, a sight so familiar that she almost couldn't breathe as she choked out the word--

“Archangel?”

Incredulous. Dubious. Disbelieving.

Shocked.

Relieved.

“Shepard.” He sat down on the edge of a table, propping himself up as he removed his helmet. Exhaustion was etched into every line of his body, and still, she could read the same emotions on his face that she felt burning through her chest. “I thought you were dead.”

“Garrus, what are you doing here?” She couldn't help it, couldn't help the way that his name came with a laugh, couldn't help tension that bled from her, couldn't help but smile at him.

“Just keeping my skills sharp. A little target practice.”

“No kidding. Shot me a couple times, by the way. That what you call practice?”

His mandibles twitched a little, and he grinned. “I'd call it even.”


	3. my black eye casts no shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quieter chapter, set in ME2

She caught her reflection on a window as they walked by, and watched it, still unsure about the recreation of her body. A hand reached up to brush past the scars on her cheek, new craters and crevices that marked the landscape of her skin. Scars weren't an issue, necessarily; she was more than familiar with them. But the change bothered her. Any change that had appeared after she had awoken in a Cerberus lab was a spot of worry for her, another mark in the column that told her she wasn't _her_ anymore.

“Getting vain, Commander?” Garrus commented, casting an eye in her direction as they continued towards the control room of the seemingly abandoned vessel.

“Funny that you think there's something here to get vain about,” she retorted, dropping her free hand and pressing into cover in one swift movement.

She peeked around the corner, slowly, cautiously, and signaled for them to continue. Tali darted past her, and then Garrus, and finally she followed, walking backwards to ensure no one snuck up on them. The entire ship felt wrong, and set her nerves on edge. It was too quiet and too empty and too--

“Another mirror at your 10, Commander,” crackled the turian's voice over the coms, and she actually jumped, and then glared at him through her helmet. “Should you want to continue to appraise yourself.”

“Is this really the best time, you two?” Tali piped in, a mixture of annoyance and amusement mingling in her voice. “It could at least wait until we've made sure that we aren't about to get killed.”

“But if I wait, and we get killed, how could I rest peacefully knowing I never got to tease Shepard about her scars? Some things can't wait.”

“Trust me,” she grinned, pushing past him with a simple shove of her shoulder. “If we get taken out, I'll be haunting your spirit ass for the rest of eternity about how you couldn't get the kill shot.”

 

* * *

 

Tali left them to remove their armor by themselves once the decontamination was done, saying that she needed to check for a suit leak she thought she had. 

He didn't take off his armor, of course, but Shepard did. It was an effort not to stare as she undid the latches, and stripped down piece by piece, laying each shining black piece out on the table, until finally she stood with her back to him, stinking and grimy from the latest attack. But it was familiar. A sight that he'd once believed he would never see again.

Shepard stretched, and twisted her torso, catching his gaze for long enough to make him hurry to remove all of his weapons from their places and organize them to be put back.

“Enjoying the view, Vakarian?”

He swallowed, then shrugged. “Just wondering how the hell your scarred ass managed to have a gaggle of lovesick squad members trailing after you. On both of your ships.”

He heard the heavy fall of boots as she made her way over, and he pretended to be examining his sniper for damage. “Mmm, you know what? I think I smell... huh, I think it's jealousy. I can't tell if it suits you or not.”

She leaned against the wall as he shot her a disparaging look. Shepard seemed tired, but okay. No hard line in her shoulders, no tightness in her posture. Her voice was easy, too, no heat to the jabs she threw.

“Anyway,” she continued when he didn't respond, “Some people attribute it to my personality. I've got charisma, Garrus. Some even say I'm charming.”

“Well, I say they're wishful thinkers. You've got personality, though. Don't think I could deny that.”

“And what's that supposed to mean?” She laughed, a sound that was as incredulous as it was humored.

“It means that you had to bring _something_ to the table.” He shrugged, disassembling the gun with a few quick snaps. “Some people have war stories, or ranks and accolades, or wealth. You just chose personality, I suppose.”

Another laugh. He turned to catch her eye, and saw a spark there. Something warm and wild and free. Something that made his heart stutter in his chest with enough force to make him painfully aware of it.

“And what do you bring to the table then, in your opinion? We're both scarred to hell, and I've already got personality covered.”

He wanted to look away, to steady his breath and pretend that he hadn't felt any peculiar emotions at all, but damn it if Shepard wasn't actually charming enough to catch him up in it. “Well, aside from my spectacular strength and my expert abilities at sniping, I also have more than enough fatalistic wit to cover for the gaping mess on the side of my face.”

She raised an eyebrow, and pushed herself off of the wall with a smooth grace, and walked close enough to him to reach up, and pat her hand playfully against said scars. Their eyes met, and she looked like she was trying to tell him something, in the confusing and mysterious way that humans non-verbally communicated. If he had to guess, he would have assumed she was trying to tell him that she approved, with some sort of warmth and acceptance mingling on her features. But he also wondered whether that was hopeful thinking on his part.

He watched, breath held tight in his throat, as she then walked away.

“Save that wit for later, Garrus. We're probably going to need it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been playing with this chapter for what feels like an eternity, and I don't quite like it, but I have many more pieces ready to go for this, so I posted it anyway! That said, I've set up a tumblr (follow me @ nourthern-soul.tumblr.com) where I will be accepting prompts and questions and the like for anyone who is interested. I love taking prompts, so if you have anything you'd like to see written, shoot me an ask! Thanks!


	4. your slaps don't stick, your kicks don't hit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starting with this chapter, the next three installments will be tied together, as they center around the beginning of the romance in ME2. This is not canon compliant, if that matters to anyone.

“What if we skipped right to the tiebreaker? We could test your reach... and my flexibility.”

“Oh,” he said, the meaning of her words dawning on him. “I didn't... huh. Never knew you had a weakness for men with scars.”

She grinned, but she didn't miss the way that his mandibles twitched, or his expression tightened for a moment. It was quick, but she certainly didn't miss it. “It was just a joke, Vakarian. Scars notwithstanding.”

“You're breaking my heart, Shepard. What's a turian to do?”

“I'm sure you'll find some way to console yourself,” she said, straightening up and walking past him, patting him on the shoulder as she went. “In the meantime, I wouldn't mind an actual sparring match. We could clear the tables away from the mess. See if you're still top ranked in hand to hand on my ship.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn't want you to back down from that offer too, Commander.” He crossed his arms and gave his version of a lifted eyebrow, or so she assumed.

“Oh, I'm sure. Unless you're too intimidated, that is. Wouldn't want you even more heartbroken to get beat in the ring.”

“It's on, Shepard. Call a time, and you're going down.”

She nodded her approval and walked off, letting the door to the main battery close behind her, and felt a flare of panic rise through her.

Had she just suggested sex?

With Garrus?

Her, his commanding officer, propositioning someone she also considered her best friend?

Even as a joke, that was taking things a little far by her standards. Shepard took a deep breath and kept going, heading to the elevator to return to the CIC and work and all the stress involved with it. She internally decided that it was, in fact, the stress making her act weird. Like Garrus had been saying, tensions were running high, and she was over-tasked and in need of a way to blow off tension.

She wondered how many times she'd tell herself that lie until it stuck.

 

* * *

 

“Commander, are you really going to fight Garrus?”

She rolled her eyes and pushed at the edge of his chair. “It's sparring, not fighting. You all talk quickly behind my back.”

“Small ship, Commander,” Joker said, not looking away from the screens in front of him. “When are you going to fight? And do you think you're actually going to win? I mean, nothing against you, but he's six and a half feet of turian in heavy armor.”

“Sparring, Joker. You bet your ass I'm gonna win. He may be tall, but I'm quick.”

“Mmm, yeah, might have to bet against you. No hard feelings though.”

She rolled her eyes. “Have fun losing your money. Who else is betting against me?”

“Don't know yet. Word travels fast, but not that fast,” he said, tapping away at displays and buttons.

“You're a terrible liar. Maybe Grunt will bet for me.”

He responded as she walked away, arms crossed over her chest, “Only because a krogan would rather give themselves a vasectomy than bet for a turian!”

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week, she couldn't go more than an hour without someone egging her on about the match between her and Garrus. Even between themselves, they bantered and teased one another about it. 

“Nice shot, Vakarian,” she said while they were on the field, cleaning out Geth that had taken up in an abandoned factory. “Too bad you can't bring a gun to a fist fight.” 

“I was just thinking the same thing about you, Shepard. That might be the only way you could win.” 

“You're awfully cocky for someone who's never seen me fight before.” She holstered her gun as she finished off the last husk, and retrieved the data they were looking for.

“Trust me, I've seen enough of your hand to hand on the field to know that you don't stand a chance.” Garrus leaned against a set of terminals across from her, as Miranda searched the husks for whatever Cerberus wanted.

“On the field doesn't count. Too much interference, too many variables,” she countered. “One on one is much more direct. More focused.”

“More focus on how your ass is going to get handed to you.”

“You would bring up my ass, Vakarian.”

“Please, can you two save it for when we're back on the Normandy? When you can lock yourselves in a room where I don't have to hear it,” came Miranda's voice over the coms. She had wandered pretty far, which Shepard was grateful for; she wouldn't pick up on her blush quite so easily.

“Who're you betting for then?” She asked, finishing up at the terminal, and opening her omni-tool to sync the data as Garrus called in to the Normandy for pick up.

“I don't do betting, Shepard.”

“Well, she's Cerberus, so she's probably betting for you,” Garrus commented, his mandibles twitching in apparent humor. “It'd be quite a day to see a Cerberus agent betting against a human.”

“I'm not betting,” she repeated.

“Jack's betting for Garrus,” Shepard informed her, hiding a smirk the best she could.

Miranda locked eyes with her from across the room. “You better kick his ass, Commander.”


	5. break the lock if it don't fit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leading up to the match between the two dorks

Miranda, as it turned out, was fairly serious about her winning, having offered her private practice sessions until she decided to actually spar with Garrus. She had to inform the woman that it was supposed to just be a friendly match, and that no, she actually didn't need the practice.

But knowing how seriously her crew was taking their eventual fight had put pressure on it that she hadn't expected. She fully believed herself capable of getting Garrus flat on his ass and down for the count, but expectations from her crew was enough to have her second guessing.

Not that she would ever, ever admit that to anyone's face.

Nor would she ever admit that she had called a turian friend back on the Citadel and asked what to expect.

“The illustrious Commander Shepard, back from the dead, and asking for advice on sparring? From me, of all people?”

“Cut it out, Kristus, I know you served your time with the military,” she spoke through her omni-tool, sitting at the desk in her quarters. “I just need an idea of what to expect. Besides, all those times you were brawling in the bars must have kept you in practice.”

“Let me have my minute to laugh at it,” he responded, chuckling a bit. “It's been a long time since we last spoke, even if the news broadcasts are quick enough to spill any detail of your life that they can get. But still, you're certainly onto more important things than pulling turians out of bar fights nowadays. Now, you're the one starting them!”

She rolled her eyes at the man. “Yeah, laugh it up. I'll remember it next time I catch you pushing bad mods on the Citadel.”

“Idle threats, I'm sure,” he grinned back at her. “There's not much I can tell you, though. It's just like any normal sparring you can expect. Turians usually wear a lighter armor, but they fight just the same. If it's tips you want, then... go for the hips. Weak spots, generally. Watch out for the feet, but if you can get a hook around his leg, it might be easier to drop him that way. Around the neck is sensitive, underneath the fringe especially.”

“Well, that sounds simple enough to remember.” She made a mental note of it, and another to remind her to scope out Garrus' features a little better on her next trip to the main battery. Not that she hadn't already been doing enough of it, as of late. But more couldn't hurt. “How's life treating you?”

Kristus laughed again, his miniaturized portrait shaking in the display of her omni-tool. “Not as good as you, it seems.”

She brushed off his jabs and wrapped up the conversation before someone caught her. She wasn't cheating, but she wasn't going to get accused of being underhanded, either. Commander Shepard was simply prepared.

 

* * *

 

“It isn't too late to back out.”

“In your dreams, Vakarian.”

She leaned against his work station, hands propped against the edges, smirk settled comfortably onto her face.

“Alright, but you've got half your crew betting against you,” he reminded her, not looking up from his calibrations across the room. “Sure you won't crumble under the pressure?”

Jack, Mordin, Jacob, Tali, Donnelly, and Joker had all pooled against her. Grunt, Zaeed, Kelly, Gabby, Miranda and, surprisingly, Kasumi had all supported her. Nearly fifty-fifty odds, besides what other bets were happening where she couldn't overhear them.

“The lady doth protest too much,” she quipped.

“What?”

“It's a human thing. Shakespeare. Means you're being a whiner, Garrus, fronting to cover up your own fears of losing, or something like that.”

He turned his head and gave her a look drenched in sarcasm. “You got me there, Shepard. I'm terrified to fight someone half my size and about thirty pounds lighter. Guess I'll save face now.”

“I am not half your size, you liar,” she scoffed, and switched to crossing her arms with indignity. “Don't try to intimidate me, Garrus.”

“Mmm, and if you win, you'll retell your glory by saying I was double your height and a rampaging beast that you conquered with the sheer power of your wondrous musculature.”

“When I win,” she corrected. “And tell me more about this wondrous musculature of mine. Done much appreciating of that?”

He coughed, once, in what sounded like an attempt to hide a splutter. “Not as many times as I've caught your eyes trailing to my hips since you've gotten here, Shepard.”

She gave the back of his head a hard stare and prayed to whatever fates were out there that her cheeks wouldn't flush red. “Just looking for weak spots, Vakarian.”

“Keep looking. Enjoy the view.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can do the same to the floor once I've pinned you to it this weekend.”

“Is that so?” He hummed. “Well, good to know you're considering this to be an all-out, hand-to-hand match. I was wondering if you humans considered sparring to just be punching each other until one of you falls over.”

“That's called boxing. Technically. Some people spar like that,” she clarified. “But that's no fun. I'd beat you too easy that way. If we do full contact sparring, at least you've got a chance.”

“You would enjoy full contact sparring more.”

“And, so what if I do? What does that say about me, exactly?”

He abandoned his work completely at that, and turned to face her, amusement in every line of his face. “A lot of things, Shepard. Body to body, a match of pure, physical strength pitted against one another, the winner the one who can overpower their opponent and take them down. A match that can get so heated that it can come down to things like _reach_ and _flexibility_. I'd say that can be pretty... revealing.”

She kept his stare, but her insides felt like the panic switch had been flipped. Her brain told her that she had been exposed, her insides squirming with the idea of it. It was like being fired at on the field, when she knew that she had no cover. “You're never going to let me live down that joke, are you?”

He smirked, something smug that said he had won whatever little tussle they had just been in. “Only until you pull yourself out of denial and admit it wasn't a joke.”

Shepard stood, then, straightening herself out to stand tall. “I'll say it again. In your _dreams_ , Vakarian.”

She left, the sound of light chuckles clinging to her back as she walked out of the main battery. Her legs were a little wobbly, and her breaths weren't exactly even. Of all that had happened in their conversation, though, she did walk away with a renewed determination to hand him his own ass on a silver platter in the match to come.


	6. love sticks, sweat drips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus and Shepard spar. Need I say any more than that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening for this chapter is "Kiss with a Fist" by Florence + the Machine, naturally. This chapter is what actually inspired this entire fic, so I'm very happy to have gotten to it! Hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it!

By the time that she had walked into the mess hall, half the ship had gathered into it, chatting in boisterous voices that carried the atmosphere across the room. Charged would be an understatement. 

She sighed, and rolled her shoulders, checking the clasps on the light armor on her body. She wasn't about to leave a seal loose enough to trip her up. She had debated on whether to wear armor at all, because she knew that Garrus wouldn't spar without his, but elected that it would probably be a wise decision to have some form of protection. Better than getting turned into minced meat, honestly.

She stepped forward, and cheers rang out as people realized that she had arrived. They ushered her to the middle of the makeshift circle, where Garrus was already waiting, seated beside Zaeed, undoubtedly needling the merc for tips. She grinned as he turned to look at her, and tossed the pack of tape that she had been carrying his way. She had already used it on her own hands, white material coating the fingers she hoped wouldn't get too cut up in the match.

“What's this, Shepard? Want to tie me up to make it fair?”

“Just your talons, big boy. I'm not getting clawed to hell and back when things get heated.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and turned to let Zaeed help enclose his nails in the thick tape. “Your armor looks pretty weak. Sure it's not going to fall apart after a few hits?”

She shrugged, and began stretching her limbs methodically, tuning out the excited chatter in the background. “It would still be better than lugging around that giant set you've got on. I would say I'm surprised you're wearing it, but we'd both know it would be a lie."

“Hope your punches land harder than your insults. Otherwise, this is gonna be a quick fight.”

Their assembled audience let out a few hollers, egging them on in the way that only a crew could. “Ready whenever you're ready to lose, Vakarian.”

They squared up, standing equal distance from each other. Her mouth had long gone dry, and the only thing keeping her confidence in place at all was seeing how ridiculous Garrus looked with his fingers wrapped up, from talon to knuckle. She didn't have performance anxiety. Not at all. But with the look Garrus was giving her, and the electric anticipation running through the room, it was certainly enough for her to feel the adrenaline running through her from head to foot.

“You're both idiots,” came a voice as its body emerged from the crowd; Dr. Chakwas. “But since I'm one of the only ones here who hasn't placed money on either of you, I'll be making sure that you don't kill each other in the process. But I'll have you each know that I'm not cleaning up whatever mess you become when this is finished.”

“Thanks, _Mom_ ,” she grinned, something tight and tense, as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “Hear that, Vakarian? Better know when to surrender.”

“Keep talking, Shepard. Assuage your fears. We'll see what happens here shortly.”

The doctor stood between them, and exchanged sturdy glances with them both that told them all they needed to know about clean fighting and what would happen to a cheater. She raised her fist in the air, and let it hover for a few moments, the crowd practically humming with anticipation, and Shepard could only stare back at Garrus and wonder what the hell he had planned for this.

Her fist dropped, and they began circling immediately.

Garrus, she knew, would take as much time as he wanted. He had endurance greater than hers, and patience as well. Normally, she'd be more patient, but her body's chemical system had pushed her to full charge. For her, it had become all impulses and nerves, priming her muscles for the strike. There was no patience in that.

She watched his movements as they stepped, sizing each other up. She would likely take the first strike, but he was anticipating that. She could try, then fade away and hope it exposed a good spot on him for a moment, but she didn't like her chances. His reflexes were damn good. She could, however, offer up bait for the taking.

With quick footwork, she pivoted and moved forward, closing half the distance between them in less than a second, thanking the Alliance for all the training they had ever given her. It was a fluid motion, one that was meant to look nicer than it was, and most importantly, open up her shoulder for a punch.

On cue, her left field of vision picked up a blur, and she felt a sharp weight slam into her shoulder, and in that moment she thanked herself for wearing the armor. The blow had landed hard enough to steal some of her breath even through the metal plating, but she pushed past it. With open hands, she reached down and under his arms, ducking as she grabbed the edge of his armor around his hip and tugged, trying to drag enough of his force forward to knock him off balance.

Garrus caught on quick to her methods, though, and swatted her away, connecting another blow to the side of her head as she pulled back. She shook it off and bounced back on the balls of her feet, staying close enough to reach out and hit him, but far enough back to avoid any more quick hits.

They stayed like that for a while, the audience screaming around them as they dealt each other small blows here and there, connecting fists with ribs and chests, necks and faces, and words with pride and ego. She stuck to the upper half of his torso as much as she could, looking for skin more than metal; the only thing that would get hurt from punching his armor was her fist. The contact that his fists made against her armor did more damage, and she knew that already, feeling a couple of spots where her body was quickly bruising.

“Come on, Shepard,” he taunted, nearly swaying as he moved. “Worn out already?”

“Why are you asking? Ready to quit?”

He barked out a laugh, and she tried to dart close. Her fist was an inch away from his face when he swatted it away and tried to punch her back, but she saw it coming before he could pull away. She swung her shoulders down, and braced herself against him. She thought of all the times she had watched Wrex and Grunt fight, the way they threw their whole bodies against their target.

If it worked for the krogan, it could work for her, couldn't it?

She shoved, hard, tossing herself along with him as she forced him backwards, only letting go right before she fell herself. Garrus flailed, trying to restore his balance, but instead fell into the ring of onlookers, much to their enjoyment. Jack and a few of the other crew caught him and pushed him back as she withdrew, a wicked smile on her face.

It would not to be a battle of straight on hitting, then. She knew that, and began calculating all of the ways that she could outwit the turian and sink him without letting him land too many punches. She just had to do it before he wore her out.

“You're so far away,” she lamented, words falling out in between her deep breaths that filled her chest. “Why the distance? Was it something I said?”

They each moved closer; she threw her weight into a punch to the shoulder, he reached out and connected with her stomach.

“Was it something I did?”

She grinned as he swung again, ducking out of the way. She let out a series of hits that were quicker than she thought even she could keep track of, the sound of her fist against his chin enough to make the smallest bubble of guilt form in her stomach.

“Fine, then,” he grunted, pulling back and wiping the back of his hand against his mouth. “Let's talk about it.”

Shepard fell into another round of back and forth as the crowd jeered, and those betting in her favor bit their metaphorical nails. The banter was just another variable in the fight, something to throw out and use as a distraction. But it wasn't enough. Soon, she would be tired and aching, and she knew the time had come to starting whittling down his defenses.

The pattern of her punches and rolls, her sidestepping and charges began falling into something nearly predictable. She'd reach out and punch him, not well, and give herself enough time to back away before he could land a good hit. Then she'd come back, miss a few hits, let them be blocked and then accept a hit herself before falling back again. She altered her movements to make it look like she wasn't trying anything, but she knew Garrus would catch it anyway, with his predator's instincts aiding him. Which, really, was what she was banking on. She couldn't fool him if she didn't know how to evade his expectations.

It was as he lunged on her third rotation of stepping sideways to punch that she moved, leaping to the side and grabbing him from behind. Her aim was to get his legs, but as she grabbed his arm and shoulder, she felt hands reaching around to grab her sides, and her stomach span sickly as she was swung upwards, and then down.

She tried to brace herself and land on the ground as evenly as she could, but her shoulder smacked directly into the metal floor and it robbed her of her senses for a few moments. The crowd seemed to disappear as her ears rung with pain, and even then, her primal instincts were bounding ahead of her senses.

Shepard almost seemed to... watch herself, as she jabbed an arm out and snagged it behind the joint in his leg and yanked it towards her with as much force as she could bear, knocking him loose for just enough time to let her swing up and kneel to bring him down, so that he joined her on the floor. His armor clashed violently, metal on metal, and she knew that she had done some damage, at long last.

But Garrus was quick, more so than she'd have liked, and he was rolling over and catching at her sides again, underneath her arms where the metal gave way to soft mesh covering. She narrowed her eyes at the turian and wrenched herself away, pivoting on her knees to grab the back of his neck and dig her hands into it, dragging them down to the base of his carapace. She could actually feel the growl coming from him, through her hand, up to her arm and shoulder, and she grabbed the edge of his carapace as he grabbed the bun on her head.

“You're fighting dirty, Shepard,” he hissed, face close enough to hers that she could smell him, his breath and his sweat, the heat of his body almost too close to hers. Her stomach did a flip that she was not at all prepared for, but she adjusted herself so that he was pinned between her knees even as he pulled tighter on her hair.

“By whose rules?” She grinned at him, something bright and sharp, and brought one elbow up fast enough to smash it against his face.

“This is a fight, not your bedroom,” shouted someone that she couldn't pinpoint, but it distracted her long enough to give Garrus the edge he needed to throw her off and pin her instead, his lower half pressing against her chest, an arm shoved under her throat.

“Should have known a Spectre would be underhanded,” he grunted, trying to keep her still as she squirmed beneath him.

From the turian's chest down was nothing more than wiry mucles and bone, nothing sustainable enough to give her problem to get out of. But she knew there was yet more opportunity to fool him and sneak out of his grip. Shepard drew in a shallow breath, her windpipe nearly crushed under his arm, and moved her hand upwards, resting it against his face.

“Only a turian would expect someone to punch their way through armor,” she retorted, straining to speak. With as much quickness as she could muster, she closed the hand over one of his mandibles and yanked, hard enough to sting, she hoped. In the moment following that, he spit out a curse her translator couldn't pick up, but more importantly, she managed to pull back and slap him, the connection of her hand flat against the sharp, hardened expanse of his scars, the sound nearly louder than his armor hitting the floor.

It stung like hell, but it did its job of surprising him and loosening his hold on her just enough.

She used his arms as leverage and pushed herself backwards, giving her the space she needed to bring her knees up and kick him with both feet, launching him away and off of her body. It took almost too much effort for her to roll back up onto her feet, but she was up again, and still scrabbling to climb on top of him yet another time. But now, she grabbed his arms as he balanced his head above the ground, the tips of his fringe brushing the floor.

It was with great force that she fought to get his arms down, something that he almost won her over, but she grunted and yelled and pushed his arms to the floor as she straddled him around mid-chest. The crowd was essentially shouting at losing-their-shit levels, and they only grew louder in tandem as she brought her head back, ready to headbutt Garrus and smash him, fringe and all into the ground.

But then, there was pressure, pushing against her, and she froze as she felt the sharp points of his teeth grazing the edges of her neck, poised to bite down at any moment. She held her head as still as she could, and looked down, seeing that despite her best efforts, he had edged himself away enough to pull up his torso to reach her.

“Now who's the one fighting dirty?” She hissed, careful not to let her throat bob as she spoke.

“You started it,” he chuckled, moving his teeth just enough to speak without biting her. “Ready to forfeit now?”

Her chest was heaving, and she was exhausted. She had him at her throat, and all of her lightning fast examinations of her situation only gave her options of defeat. It seemed to be over.

But he had called her underhanded. He had branded her as that, and she wasn't about to let it lie. If that's what he thought, then, well, she could show him underhanded. But she would only get one shot at it.

Shepard pursed her lips and let go of his arms, open palms raised as she began pulling backwards to free herself from the danger of razor sharp turian teeth. Garrus let out a sigh, and smiled, his shoulders falling and his form loosening. Open. Unsuspecting.

She climbed to her feet, rolling her shoulders and the ache that was growing there. Her eyes were sharp as she extended a hand to Garrus, and he took it, pulling against her weight as he stood. And it took her only a moment, a single beat in time, to hook herself onto his carapace and wrap her free arm around his neck. She brought his occupied arm behind his back as she half-knelt, struggling even then to keep him contained as he caught onto her ruse.

“I'm Commander Shepard,” she said, her mouth right next to where she knew his ear canal to be. Her voice was low, gravely, but triumphant. The cool metal of his armor was pressed into her as she tightened her arm against his throat, tighter than what he had done to her, proving her point. “I never give up.”

“Okay, okay,” he choked out, spluttering. “I forfeit. Let me go.”

She complied, quickly releasing him as she drew in her own breath. She stayed on the ground, resting, letting her lungs catch up with the rest of her body. Garrus stayed there too as their audience cheered, one final mess of applause and shouts, declarations of winnings and cries of bets lost. It was vibrant, alive, she thought. A welcome sight, to see them all like that.

Her squad mate turned to her then, catching her line of sight. Their faces were closer than they'd ever been, and their breaths were hot and fast on the others face as they stared, green eyes against blue. Garrus' were filled with shock; hers, with satisfaction.

“You beat me.” His voice came out more surprised than she would have thought it would. “Dammit, Shepard.”

She grinned, and finally peeled herself away from the ground, pushing herself up and rubbed a hand against the top of his crest. “Told you, Vakarian.”

He stood as well, balancing himself, rolling a few joints and wincing. She knew she'd be doing the same thing in a few minutes, but the mixture of endorphins and adrenaline had taken over and left her feeling pretty damn good for the moment.

Chakwas, against her word, scooted to them before the crowd could sweep them away and handed over a pack of medi-gel apiece, clapping each of them on the shoulder before leaving again. She immediately sent the woman a silent thanks and opened her omni-tool interface, readying the connection to the pack.

“For a human, you can punch pretty damned good, Shepard,” he sighed, attaching his own pack to his suit's system. “I'll give you that.”

“For a turian, you can almost beat my ass.” The admittance came with a small smile. “But you've got to try harder than that.”

There was a small growl of annoyance from him. “I can. I want a rematch, Shepard.”

“So soon?” She didn't look up from the screen over her arm. The pain was already starting to surface, and she did not want to spend her victory moments curled up in a pile on the floor. “Didn't know you liked getting beat up, Garrus.”

She felt the blunted tips of his taped-up talons brush against her side, in a way that was not at all accidental. “I had different plans. After we finish healing from this match, of course. And next time, it'll be somewhere a little more... private.”

Suddenly, she was grateful that her face was already red from exertion. She wiped the shocked look off her features as quickly as she could, and just breathed as she felt the medi-gel take affect across her body. “You seem so sure that I'll agree to it.”

Garrus glanced to the side, and circled in front of her, leaning close enough so that his quiet words wouldn't be washed away with the crowd. “If you don't want to, just tell me no and I'll leave it at that. But I'd like to try. This was... enlightening for me, Shepard. It doesn't have to mean anything, if that's what you're worried about.”

She looked up at him from the short distance that separated them. She sighed. “We'll talk about it. When we're not in a room full of people, preferably. But, I suppose it can be arranged.”

He smiled at her, and his mandibles fluttered a little, and she cursed her heart for clenching at the sight. “Alright then. Time for you to rub this in my face for the rest of time, hm?”

“No doubt about that,” she laughed, shaking her head. “But Garrus? Good match.”

“Good match, Shepard.”


	7. so sit back and watch the bed burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is vaguely SFW, brief mentions of sex. That said, this is set after the suicide mission in ME2, before Shepard decides to turn herself in.

“How'd you get that one?”

She turned and frowned at Garrus, her dirty undershirt still in her hands, her pants in a pool at her ankles. “What?”

“That scar,” he explained, staring pointedly at the back of her upper arm. “That's an odd place to get hit. Were you running from something?”

“Do I seem like the type of person to turn my back and run from something?” Her eyes narrowed, her face a scowl as her pride was challenged.

The turian's mandibles flared a little, and she could read mirth in his expression. “Do you honestly want me to answer that?”

Shepard sighed, and rolled her eyes, letting the shirt fall unceremoniously to the floor. “It happened when I was young. Friends and I were screwing around in a river, taking turns jumping off of rocks into the deep part of it. I ended up slipping, and the stones tore my arm open. Of course, that was nothing compared to the lecture mom and dad had waiting for me after the doctor was done stitching me up.”

“So you always were one to launch yourself headfirst into risky situations,” he laughed, and reached for her from where she sat at the edge of the bed, pulling her closer. “I'd always wondered if that was something you had in you since birth.”

She crawled towards him, grinning. “Yes, other than saving your ass every time we're out on the field, my instincts do include throwing myself into dangerous situations. My track record can vouch for me. As can my scars.”

There were hands at her hips and shoulders, tucking her against a body that was much warmer than hers, the only thing separating them were his soft clothes and her underwear. She ran her own hands against the length of one of his sleeves, wondering at the thin barrier between them. Wondering, always, at how they'd gotten to that point.

“What about you, Vakarian? What stories do your scars tell?” She asked, eyebrows wiggling as she laid on her side, hands skirting over him to rest on his chest.

“Is that a joke, Shepard? Are all those cybernetics impairing your memory?” He tapped his talons lightly against the back of her neck.

“I'm not talking about the obvious. You can't tell me that the only scars you have are the ones where you took a rocket into the face. I won't believe you.”

“You won't?” he asked, mock scandal in his voice. “Whatever will I do?”

She grinned, something sharp and excited as she twisted herself, hooking a leg over Garrus' thin torso and straddling him in a swift motion. “Let me take your clothes off and examine you. Very closely. To check that you're telling the truth.”

There was a soft growling of sorts that came from the back of his throat that did all sorts of things to her insides. “I like that idea, although I'm not too fond of you accusing me of lying.”

“I never said you were lying.”

“But you doubt that I'm telling the truth. Isn't that the same thing?”

“No...Yes? No.” She shook her head, and narrowed her eyes. “Garrus. Do you want to sit here all night and contemplate the differences between doubt and accusation, or do you want to have sex?”

“Mmm, so pushy, Shepard,” he commented as he repositioned himself, and pulled himself up to her for a moment. He got close, enough to where she could feel the heat of his breath across her lips, her throat. “I like it.”

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, a question. When he nodded, she closed the few inches of space between them with her lips on his. Just brief contact, a kiss that was meant to linger. “Come on, then. Let's see who's got more scars.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to note, in the future I may come back to this and add more onto it. Right now, I like where it is, but it feels very brief and I would love to expand it and have actual banter and discovery about each of their scars. Truth is though, I'm terrible at smut and that's definitely where this chapter would be heading. So have this for now, perhaps more will come of it later.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, by the way! And, if you are so inclined, I'm always accepting prompts at nourthern-soul.tumblr.com 
> 
> Thanks everyone! :)


	8. you gave a kick, i gave a slap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during ME3, all hands on deck

Both of them knew, of course, which one was the winner. They knew the stories, the tallies, the details behind it all. They knew when the other one was talking bullshit, adding in details to one up the other. They knew when to call each others bluff.

But damn it if it wasn't fun to rile everyone else up with it.

“I've got a scar that runs from my hip to my knee,” she said, pride strong in her voice.

“And I've got four that run from my shoulders down my entire back,” Garrus replied coolly.

“You mean the ones you got because you were being chased by a pyjak?”

“Yeah, kind of like the ones on your arm where your _pet varren_ bit you.”

“Whoa, Lola has a pet varren? Since when?” James looked around the mess hall, as if expecting it to manifest before him.

“Tuchanka,” she informed him. “Before the suicide mission. Where, it just so happens, I got several scars from the acid of the thresher maw I killed. On foot.”

“Bullshit, Shepard,” Garrus called, pointing at her midriff. “Those are birthmarks, and you know it. The acid would have burnt through your armor before it touched your skin. And besides, I was there for that one.”

She smirked and crossed her arms. “You were there for almost all of them. Because your ass can't shoot fast enough to keep the heat off of me.”

“That's not particularly fair,” Liara commented from over her mug of tea. “Garrus tries his hardest at 'keeping your six' and you... do get into an unusual amount of danger.”

“Thank you, Liara.” Garrus copied her posture, arms over chest, confident. “Not my fault if you're a magnet for trouble.”

“You're one to talk, _Archangel_.” She tapped the side of her face where the scars laid on his. “Unless you sent a note to all those mercenary companies and asked them for their hardest challenge?”

“Hardest? Is that what you thought of that, Shepard?”

Kaidan groaned, rubbing his temples. “Were they always this bad? I could have swore they were never this bad.”

“ _Keelah_ , you're lucky you weren't on the ship when we were still dealing with Cerberus,” Tali chimed in, poking away at her omni-tool. “It was worse than this.”

“I don't know what any of you are talking about,” she sniffed, holding her chin high. “This is par for the course. What I do know, though, is that Garrus has nothing on me. Especially not after I beat him in hand to hand combat.”

“That was a fluke!” he called, shaking his head. “If we went at it again, I have zero doubts about who would go down.”

James tapped the back of his hand against Kaidan's arm, laughing. “I guess that's one way to put it, ay?”

“What? I don't-- Oh, god, wait, are you saying--?”

“Kaidan, you don't _know_?” Tali slapped both hands against the table as she leaned forward. “How do you not know?”

“Hold on, I have some questions.”

“I thought it would have been rather obvious. Though, I suppose being an information broker lends a... particular set of skills.”

“This is _golden_ , oh my god, I can't believe I get to see this first hand.”

She grimaced, staring at the chaos of the mess tables. “Well, this certainly took a very invasive turn.”

“This is what we get for arguing in public, Shepard,” Garrus said, grinning. He walked closer, eyeing the group as they shouted over one another and discussed bets and information. “Should have kept the lover's quarrel in the bedroom.”

She raised an eyebrow and stared up at the turian. “Yeah, but we would have missed this. Couldn't have let that happen. Who's your pick for the first one to come asking about how our 'cross-species liaison' works?”

“Hmm, tough pick. I'll bet on James, though. He'll try to hide it in a joke, of course, but he'll still be curious.”

“James? Really? I'm going with Kaidan, although honorable mention goes to Tali. Either way, I'm prepping for an awkward conversation.”

“You're planning on telling them the truth? Bold, Shepard. I was going to mess with them a little, see what I could convince them to believe.”

“Like what?”

“Pfft, as if I would give away my best ideas.”

“Oh, it's on, Vakarian.”

“Isn't it always, Shepard?”


	9. i broke your jaw once before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during ME1, more downtime for Shepard

“So, Garrus,” she began, her words emphasized in all of the telltale places that showed how tipsy she was.

“Shepard,” he responded, almost as a warning. A reminder, even, of what had happened last time they had drank and spoke.

She raised her hands, open palms and good faith given at the sight of pale flesh. He eyed her cautiously for a few moments, and she tried her hardest to look innocent and honest and free of the mischief that she held in her chest. Garrus nodded, and she grinned, something toothy and sharp as she spoke again.

“Garrus,” she drawled from the crates she sat atop, watching as he wiped the grease from the Mako on an old hand towel. “What weird sorts of things can you do?”

“Excuse me?” His voice told her that he already had regrets about allowing her her fun.

“Oh, come on, you know what I mean. Every species has those weird little things that they can do. Asari can move their hair bit things, salarians can puff out their necks like balloons almost, and hanar can do... well, a lot of things, frankly. But what can turians do? What tricks do you hide up your sleeves?”

He stared at her, looking as if he was debating on whether she was teasing him or not, and whether he should answer or not, either way. “I don't know, Shepard, I don't spend that much time noting the oddities of my body. And _don't_ even go there with the lewd humor, Commander.”

“You're a liar, Vakarian,” she told him. “So that must mean whatever it is that you can do is either really good, or really dirty.

His face plates shifted into an expression that came off distinctly as unimpressed. “I'm not an entertainer. You do realize that I have things I can actually do other than stand around and indulge your whims, right?”

“Fair point,” she conceded. “And yet, here you still are. But, because I am an incredibly kind and gracious soul, I will not use you for my own personal amusement.”

A few seconds later, a loud slap resounded around the bay as her boots slammed into the metal floor beneath her. She had to throw her hands out far and wide to keep herself from toppling over, not realizing her balance was impaired by the alcohol she had had until she was faced with the prospect of falling face first on the ground. But she caught herself, and tried to play it off as smoothly as she could as she walked over to where Garrus had stationed himself. Thankfully, her legs didn't wobble, but she certainly was grateful that there was a desk for her to lean up against.

“I'll tell you what though,” she said, making sure she still held his attention. “I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Garrus groaned, exasperated. “Fine, if you're so adamant about this. What the hell can a human body do that's so weird?”

Out came the grin again, all pearly whites and indecency. She brought her fingers to her eyes, and silently thanked herself for drinking beforehand, her inhibitions definitely lowered. With a little coaxing of her eyelids, she managed to press a fold in each of them, flipping them partially inside out as the bright inside of her eyelids flashed against her eyeballs. She smiled, inwardly flinching at the sensation, and watched with glee as Garrus cringed and shuddered and let out a word her translator didn't know. Quickly, she blinked, and let her eyelids fold back out properly and gave a little mocking bow.

“Spirits, Shepard, what was that? Why can you do that? _How_ can you do that?”

She laughed, and shook her head. “I don't know, it's just something that school children do to gross out other kids. It's just one of those things that everyone knows how to do. But I held up my end of the deal. Show me what useless skill evolution endowed you with.”

He sighed, and if turians rolled their eyes, she would have suspected that his might get stuck that way. “It's certainly not as disgusting as what you humans can do with your bodies. It's probably not even that noteworthy, but--”

He stopped talking and abruptly tucked his head downwards as his shoulders made clicking noises that she wasn't sure were healthy, and within a matter of a few seconds managed to squish his head and neck so that they were nearly fully covered by the carapace, only the spiky fringe at the back of his head sticking out.

“Holy shit, Vakarian,” she breathed, taking a few steps forward unthinkingly, hand reaching up. “You're like a turtle. A giant, mutated, birdy sort of turtle.”

The only sounds that came out of him then were the buzzings of his subvocals, until he realized that and began the process of undoing it all. “I'm gonna pretend like what you said was complimentary instead of rude. But there you go. I'd also go as far to say that my evolutionary leftovers are slightly cooler than yours.”

She narrowed her eyes, and tried to tamp down on the part of her brain that told her that she could one-up him. She tried to tell herself that there was nothing to be won from it. But her brain told her that, no, this time, he had started it, had explicitly stated that his was better than hers, and there was no way the competitive streak in her could let that rest.

Sloppily, she rolled up her sleeves, and showed Garrus the expanse of her bare arms. He stared, half with confusion and half with intrigue, and she took a breath and then overextended her elbows, arching them in a way that she definitely hadn't done since she was a new recruit, using her double-jointed elbows as a party trick to impress ridiculously drunk marines.

She figured it'd probably work just as well on a turian with rigid joints.

“Okay, not as gross as the eyes, but definitely making me uncomfortable,” he said after a few moments of silence. “Shepard, you humans are freaks. Your joints should not be able to move like that.”

She only stared at him, one eyebrow raised, a devilish smirk on her face. She walked closer to him, standing less than half a foot away from where he towered over her, and lowered her voice. “Do you know what's even worse? Some people can do it to their knees.”

His face turned horrified, and his entire body shuddered, and it was all she could do to try to stand up as she laughed hard enough to make herself cry.

“Your _face_ ,” she gasped, trying her hardest to breathe, her stomach aching with the effort. “I wish so much that I was double-jointed in the knees just so I could show you now.”

“Why do you enjoy torturing me, Shepard?” He shook his head, in half-hearted disgust. “An entire ship full of crewmen and you torture me.”

She straightened up, trying to get her head to stop spinning and her lungs to actually breathe air again. “Because you're the only one who indulges me, Vakarian. You make it more fun than anyone else does.”

Shepard was too busy composing any last scraps of dignity that she had to catch the look that passed across Garrus' face, too busy to see the mixture of confusion and annoyance and even pride that rested on his face as he processed what Shepard had told him.

“Well, at least someone is getting some humor out of the pain at my expense,” he muttered. “But seriously now, you should go, sober up a bit. Sleep while you're still off duty. I've got some stuff to finish up around here, and if Chakwas catches you walking around dr--”

“Alright, I can catch when I'm being shooed away. I'll give you some peace,” she said, picking herself up. The threat of the ship doctor lecturing her about her alcohol intake was enough to silence her. “But when you're down here, bored and lonely, you'll still have your thoughts of double-jointed knees to keep you company.”

“You're a devil, Shepard. I swear.”

She merely turned and walked away, self-satisfied grin plastered to her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took ages, I was actually trying to add Ashley into it but it didn't fit right. So I spruced this up and here it is!
> 
> Also, as a note, I only have one chapter planned after this (and an inkling of an idea that may or may not appear) so that might be the end of this? Or I might just keep it open for the future, in case I get more ideas. I will be moving onto an actual fic though, a full story instead of just snippets. Look for that, if you've enjoyed this! And thank you all for reading!!


	10. a kiss with a fist is better than none

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter, ME3 setting <3

They stood together, shoulder to shoulder, arms over chests as they stared at the glowing, orange VI in front of them.

“Hello! I'm Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy.”

Her lip curled, and an unfamiliar pang of self-consciousness cut through her. “I don't sound like that. I can't sound like that. I don't, right?”

“Well, it's hard for me to say, human voices generally sound the same to me through the translator,” Garrus responded, trying his best to remain straight-faced. He cleared his throat, glancing sideways at her before addressing the computerized version of her. “Commander Shepard, you're quite the illustrious war hero.”

The VI grinned, staring blankly back at them. “That's right! Veteran of Akuze, defeater of the Collectors. I'm an N7 agent and the first human Spectre.”

“You sound like you're bragging,” she said, sighing at the terrible depiction of her.

“Simply being proud of the service I've performed for the Alliance, mankind, and the galaxy,” the VI said. “Extranet results show that you are an Alliance soldier, too. Keep up the good work out there!”

“Wow, Shepard, I've never known you to be so perky,” the turian to her left said, still attempting to maintain his composure. “It's a good look on you. Better than that burning ferocity of justice you give us in your pep talks.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, turning to face him. In her best attempt at mockery, she plastered a sickeningly happy look on her face and spoke. “Thanks, soldier! Anything to increase morale! Get out there and fight those Reapers.”

Much to her sense of pride, she didn't even blush when the entire block full of turians turned to stare at Garrus hunched over in laughter. She merely grinned, and stared defiantly back at the digital copy of herself.

“I come pre-installed with a Normandy flight sim,” replied the VI, to no one in particular.

“Oh really, is that all you can do?” She asked, one eye on Garrus as he composed himself.

“I can predict what the real Commander Shepard would say with 7.21% accuracy!”

“Absolutely,” Garrus commented, still a little breathless. “I can't tell the difference.”

“You can't, huh?” With narrowed eyes, she leaned in closer, dropping her voice so only the two of them could hear it. “Maybe I could just leave the VI in your bunk for when you want to celebrate our reunion.”

“Oh, what a cruel heart you have.”

“Yes, but this cruel heart belongs to you, Garrus.” She hit him lightly on the shoulder, a teasing grin on her face. “All yours, buddy.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you're one hell of a looker?”

“Even a VI of you flirts with me,” he said, another bout of laughter sneaking in between his words. “So I guess it really does belong to me.”

She rolled her eyes, and he kept laughing, but their gazes still landed on each other, bridging the short space between them with warmth and affection. Even with all of the galaxy going to hell in a hand basket, even if they would walk away and begin bearing the weight of their peoples' needs again, for the moment, she had him and that was enough. That was enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! For now, at least. Thank you again everyone, much love <3333


End file.
